Epilogue: The Final Encounter
by s13jshaffer
Summary: This is the final chapter of Gordie's book, which describes the last time that he ever sees Chris Chambers. Rated for language, but there's nothing here that isn't in the film, as well. Please read and review.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the movie _Stand By Me_, to the story on which it is based, or to the characters used in this work.**

**Epilogue: The Final Encounter**

The last time I ever spoke to Chris Chambers was a few weeks before his death, in the fall of 1985. We were both in Castle Rock for an old friend's funeral -- a high school girlfriend of Chris', actually. It'd been twenty years since I'd left Castle Rock for Oregon State University, but it was virtually exactly the same as it was in 1965: a small town nestled in the Oregon wilderness, hidden from the sands of time.

Chris and I met at the same restaurant we used to drink Coke in when we were kids, and it was surrounded by the same hardware store and pharmacy on either side. Seeing him sitting on the bar stool next to me, it was almost like it was 1959 again; the only differences were the pitches of our voices and the prices on the menu.

"If only the old man could see me now, eh?" Chris said with a grin after we'd ordered our old usual: a burger and fries with a vanilla milkshake. Indeed, he was a sight to see: Chris fucking Chambers, the kid brother of Eyeball Chambers, dressed in a suit and tie, sober and happy. I smiled at the thought of what Teddy and Vern would think of him now.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, Gordie." Christ, I hadn't been called that in years. "I was supposed to be in jail or have drunk myself to death by now."

"And I was supposed to be a football star," I said bitterly, scooping the cherry off the top of my shake with a long-handled spoon.

"Only in your old man's eyes," Chris replied. I nodded without looking at him. The last time we'd spoken about our fathers, we both ended up breaking down, sobbing into each others' shirt sleeves. I wasn't sure how that would look now that we were grown men.

"The rest of us, we knew better than that," Chris continued, eating his cherry right out of the glass, just like he did when we were twelve years old.

"Well, you did, at least," I said. "You kept me going, Chris."

"I wasn't the only one, and you know it, Gordie." Thankfully our hamburgers came just in time to save us from dwelling on what we both thought but neither of us dared to say: Other than Chris, the only person who ever really supported my writing was Denny. And I repaid him by being so damn jealous of him that I couldn't even cry at his funeral.

"Damn, these burgers look exactly like they did twenty-five years ago," I said to the waitress as she set a bottle of Heinz between us. "This place hasn't changed a bit, has it?"

"Ol' family secret'll never die." The server winked as she turned away. "You boys lemme know if you need anythin' else, all right now?"

I muttered a thank you as Chris chomped into his hamburger. "You know, one of the only fond memories I have of my pops happened right at this bar," he began, pausing between bites. He wiped the mayonnaise from his cheek with a napkin and continued, "I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. He'd just come through a mean streak, and he beat me up pretty good one night.

"Well, the next day he brought me down here and bought me the biggest hamburger on the menu. Fifteen cents, it cost. He said he was a changed man and that he was going to stop beating Ma and my brothers and me. Told me that nothing could make up for all the pain he'd caused me, but that the burger was a start. I thought it would be the best meal I'd ever eat."

"You've never told me that before."

"I never told anybody; never any reason to. The bastard gave me a good hiding not a week later. I don't think even Ma knows about it. It was the only time the man apologized for anything in his life, and he didn't even mean it." Chris tipped his glass into the air to retrieve what little milkshake was still on the bottom. "Hard to believe the old man's been gone fifteen years now."

"It's not surprising he died so young, though," I said as the waitress returned with our check, which she laid between us. We both reached for it and backed away, choosing to resolve the issue later.

"I always knew he was going to drink himself to death, I just didn't think it would come soon enough," Chris replied, shaking his head. "I hope the bastard's burning in Hell, where he belongs."

"I thought you didn't believe in that shit, Chris." Years before we had decided that the Christian ideal of monotheism was a crock, as no loving and compassionate God would ever allow our fathers to treat us as they did. And if there were no God, we figured, then there would be no Satan, either.

"I don't," my friend replied, sighing deeply. "I just hope he got what was coming to him, wherever he is."

"Maybe he was reincarnated as a banana slug or something," I said. As unrealistic a concept as karma seems, it sure is a satisfying thought sometimes. "Now _that'd_ be justice!"

We both laughed for several seconds, the first real laugh we'd shared since we were teenagers. I suddenly found myself wishing the moment would never end.

"That it would be," Chris said, pushing back his empty plate and resting his elbow on the bar. For a moment we sat in silence, no doubt each of us picturing our own version of an overweight, drunk slug living at the bottom of a garbage can. Even though we hadn't seen each other in years, we had retained the ability to share silence without either of us feeling compelled to speak.

"What do you think we'll be reincarnated as when we die?" Chris asked finally. "I mean, assuming what goes around comes around and all that shit?"

I thought for a moment at this surprising question. "I think you'll be a white stallion," I said, saying the most majestic animal I could think of, "roaming the fields far fucking away from Castle Rock, Oregon."

I looked at Chris and he laughed. "All right," he said while the waitress cleared the empty plates from in front of us. "What about you?"

"I don't even want to know what'll happen to me when I die, given what I've done," I answered immediately.

"Like what?"

"Shit, Chris," I began counting on my fingers as I went on, "I didn't cry at my own brother's funeral, I've wished death upon my own father, I've held a man at gunpoint…"

"Yeah, but would you have really shot Ace that night in the woods?" he interrupted.

I was certain that Chris already knew the answer to that question before he'd even asked it, but I responded anyway. "If he had taken another step toward you with that knife, he'd have been a dead man."

"That's scary as hell, Gordie."

"It's true."

"I know. That's why it's so scary."

We fell silent again, this time reminiscing about that fall night in 1959 that changed both of our lives forever. And once again, it was he who broke the silence.

"I think you'll come back as a rainbow trout or something." I glanced at him quizzically and he nodded. "You know, a beautiful soul hidden in a polluted world."

"I don't know about that," I muttered, not really caring for the direction in which the discussion was turning. I feared that what Chris had once meant as compassion might now sound more like pity.

"I do." He paused and drew a heavy sigh. "You know, I've always been kinda jealous of you, Gordie."

"What? Why?"

"Hell, we all were, in a good way," he replied. I suddenly found myself wishing we were in a place more private than the restaurant bar. "I mean, you were the only one who had any potential."

"That's not true," I said, almost irritated at my friend's stubborn naivety. "C'mon, Chris. Look at you."

"Yeah, look at me," he retorted, somewhat defensively. "I'm the fucking _miracle_. Nobody thought I would make it out of Castle Rock alive, not even you, Gordie. Hell, even _I _didn't think I could do it, until I actually did." I knew he was right. I did everything I could to push Chris when we were teenagers. I persuaded him to enroll in college preparatory courses throughout high school. I helped him with his calculus homework every night of our senior year. I even helped him research and select universities with law programs that he could get into with his average grade point average. And yet, through all of this, there was this small voice in the back of my head which told me that Chris Chambers would live in Castle Rock, Oregon until the day he died. "And Teddy, he's spending the rest of his life in prison for running over some poor bastard kid. Vern's content with his family and all, but he gave up hope of getting out of this hellhole a long time ago. Let's face it, man. We never had a future. We had our pasts and our presents, and that was it."

Chris pulled a pack of Winstons from his jacket pocket and shook out two cigarettes, one of which he offered to me. I hadn't smoked a cigarette in over ten years, but for some reason I felt compelled to accept it. He lit his own with a shiny Zippo lighter, and then reached toward me to light mine, from which I took a deep drag. I'd forgotten how good a Winston tastes after a meal.

"But you, Gordie," he continued, puffing at his own cigarette and shaking his head, "you were _going places_, man. You had something that nobody else had -- you had talent. You had a way with words that left us all in awe. You were the one who was going to make it out of Castle Rock and come back and tell us what the world was like, or else we were going to read what it was like when you published your stories and made millions of dollars. We all knew it but you."

"Well, me and my father." I bit my tongue as soon as I said the words. Why did everything have to come back to my father? Was I ever going to stop using him as an excuse for everything that was wrong with me?

"Exactly. All of that bullshit you believed about writing being a waste of time -- it was all your dad talking. All of it. He fucked you up, man, bad." Chris paused, as if expected me to say something. When I remained silent, he continued, "But you overcame it. You made your father look like the fucking fool that he is and you made something of yourself, just like I did.

"I realized several years ago that you and I -- we're not that different, Gordie. Sure, it seemed like it when we were twelve years old, but really the only difference between us were expectations."

"Well, sure," I replied. I wondered why it had taken Chris so many years to open his eyes and see the obvious truth. "It's probably why we were so close growing up."

"Yeah, probably."

Nobody spoke for several seconds as we smoked our Winstons. For the first time during our lunch I couldn't tell what Chris was thinking about, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that there was something else he wished to say to me. Instead, however, he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray between us and rose from the bar. "Well, it's about time for me to head out of here. I told Vern I'd stop by before I left town, and it's already getting late."

I looked at my wristwatch, and was amazed to see that it was already 4:30 in the afternoon. "Yeah, I've got a plane to catch back to L.A. in about an hour or so myself," I said, rising from my own stool and pulling my wallet from my back pocket.

"Please, let me," Chris said, reaching into his own pocket. "I insist."

"No, it was my idea to meet for lunch; the least I can do is fit the bill," I replied. I had hoped to avoid this conflict, but I supposed it was inevitable. "But I will let you take the tip, all right?"

"All right, that sounds fair," he said, pulling a couple of bills from his billfold and setting them on the bar. I looked down to see a five and ten dollar bill resting between the salt and pepper shakers.

"Fifteen dollars? Chris, the bill is only for twelve."

"I know," he responded with a shit-eating grin. He saw the waitress on the other end of the bar taking another customer's order. "Keep the change, darling!" he shouted to her.

"You bastard," I said, realizing that I had been out-foxed. "Chris Chambers never fucking loses, does he?"

"Not anymore, my friend." Chris tucked his wallet into his back pocket and buttoned his jacket button. "Listen, Gordie, it's been nice seeing you again. We should really do this more often." I nodded in agreement, although I knew it probably wouldn't happen. He was a lawyer and I was a writer, and neither of us had very much time for casual lunches these days. He held out his hand to me, but not for it to be shaken. "Skin it?"

"I don't think so, man," I said with a chuckle. I imagined how ridiculous we would have looked, standing in front of the bar skinning it like we did when we were teenagers. "How about a handshake and hug instead?" I held my hand to him, and we pulled each other into a tight embrace.

"You know I still love you like a brother, don't you?" he asked as we hugged.

"I know," I replied, releasing him and his hand. "I'll see you later, Chris."

"Not if I see you first," he said with a smile before turning and walking toward the door. He shook the hand of somebody sitting at the end of the bar, and then left the restaurant and my life forever.

If I had known that this would be the last time that I would ever see my best friend, I would have skinned it, and I would never have released him from that last embrace. Even today, as I'm sitting at my computer writing this chapter, I can't believe that he's gone. The world will never know another Chris fucking Chambers, and I will never know a better fucking friend.

**There it is, my first _Stand By Me_ fanfiction. Of course, reviews are always greatly appreciated, whether you liked the story or you didn't. I realize that there are a few differences between the film and the events that take place in this work (for example, the film says that it had been more than ten years since Gordie had seen Chris), but for the most part I tried to keep everything relative to the film, in order to make this feel like the actual last chapter of Gordie's book. I would like to know if I succeeded or not, so please review! :)**

**Oh, and thanks for reading, of course. :)  
**


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